


Love Like Ghosts

by afeverxlongingstill



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Choking, Drug Use, F/M, Mental Abuse, Physical Abuse, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 00:04:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17497862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afeverxlongingstill/pseuds/afeverxlongingstill
Summary: Anonymous said:"I wish you would write a fic where Jacob has been sleeping with the Deputy and is forced to choose between them and his brothers."Please leave a review and let me know if you enjoyed this - updates to come soon.





	Love Like Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> first far cry 5 fic i guess here we go!  
> you can find me on tumblr under the same url  
> please enjoy this garbage dump i am creating for u.

## I. PRIDE

Hands, rough and worn scale the round of the banister - a rigid shadow against the fading yellow of the Veterans Center. Judges howl in the distance, sniffing the perimeter, and from his vantage point, even in the encroaching darkness of the Whitetail Mountains, he can make out their effervescent, hallucinatory auras.

The door to his office slams open, muffled slightly by the double doors of the balcony. “Hm,” It is a short hum of thoughtful amusement, crushed down prematurely. “You’re early,” He rumbles as hinges moan behind him. Jacobs expression remains neutral as he reaches for the stopwatch, “Good work Deputy.”

When he finally turns she is wearing a heavily soured and soiled look, lips pulled together in an indignant pout. He smirks as a reward for her efforts. “Didn’t even give ya’ a lock pick this time.” He can feel the way that his face creases, unnatural against his widening wolf's grin, “I’m impressed.”

In the short two months he has known The Deputy he prides himself on the work he’s accomplished in terms of the bigger picture and he’s even pretty certain that he can predict their actions and reactions in regard to certain stimuli. But, as she pulls back, teeth bared at him, he is caught completely off guard. Her fist, barely the size of the hollows of his cheeks bruises across his chin- hard.

He thinks he can remember being a rational, calm individual at some point in his life, likely during his formative years, but? Those times were long gone now. That fire had long been set. Every ounce of anger he possesses pools deep into the pit of his stomach, lips thinning into an aggravated line as he sucks in a slow, annoyed breath.

Without warning he drops the timer, fingers pawing around the arch of her chin and into the crevice of her cheek. He swivels them both after crossing the threshold, smiling wide and genuine as Rooks head slams into decaying dry walling. Dust and paint flecks the days accumulated grime on his hands and he can’t help but zero in on dotted white against marred red and black.

Crisp and definable right versus uneasy and blemished wrong.

For the first time in a long time, whatever he had been planning to say dies in the back of his throat and comes out as a strangled through-his-teeth breath. He wants to rear back and sink blunt nails into the delicate curves of her. He stares down the length of his scarred nose at her instead, nostrils flaring as he debates.

“Aww, come on Jake,” She taunts roughly, struggling against the weight of his hand.

He cuts her off, relieving her of the drywall and crumbling paint only to dig her back into it a little higher, hand a fraction tighter.

She croaks out a bitterly amused sound, strangled and hedging into a state of panic despite her effortless sarcasm, “You know I do like it a little rough, Jake.”

It’s something he’d rather not admit to ruminating on in the past few weeks- she was meat, part of the herd. These thoughts were not only inappropriate but they went against part of The Projects core doctrines.

“I didn’t let your men take me to be disappointed, Seed.” She wriggles, pressing her point and he relents slowly, fingers leaving chin and cheek to cusp the length of her neck instead.

“Let them take you?” He makes a frustrated noise, “I highly doubt-”

“Not gonna let John upstage you, are you?”

“That’s high talk fer a little girl who’s scared and starving Deputy.” Fingers curl, digging in again and incensed.

Her hands dig into the lapels of his army issued jacket, tugging this time instead of just holding on, “Prove me wrong Mountain Man.”

Jacob is ninety percent certain this is just a ploy to buy time, that there is no way this woman is serious about this or him in any fashion - not that he was anything to be serious about, but? It’s been a long, long time since he’s known the affections of a woman.

Or anyone, for that matter.

It has been even longer since someone had made him felt valued enough to consider reckless rebellion against any sort of authority - no less his own family and their hostage adoptee of a sister. Although he desires nothing more than to protect and please his brothers, instinctually he sways towards favoring insurrection and a conflicted, pained noise leaves the back of his throat.

With barely another thought to his precious grip on loose rationality or his allegiance to The Project his grasp around her windpipe loosens, lightly thudding her head back against the cracked wall as the fight for what he believes is right leaves him.

At the very first sign of his own reluctance, he should have been calling for Peaches- his men, or anyone to come haul her back into her cage for being the lecherous little snake-in-the-garden that she was, but? As his mouth runs dry his free hand moves to meet the small of her back and accommodate the rolling rise of her hips. “Deputy,” His voice drops into the first questioning tone he’s deigned to use around her.

Rook laughs at him, low against the thrumming heat of his palm and repeats his name in her best mockery of him, “Jacob.”

Teeth grit, eyes turning up towards the ceiling in frustration, “You don’t know when to stop do you?”

She grins up at him, a hand snaking into the minuscule space between them, “I like to think it’s something you and I have in common old man.”

Jacob sucks in a breath through his teeth when she cups him hard through his jeans. He careens forward messily, all teeth against lips and trailing sloppily down the side of an already bruising jaw. If she has any complaints he isn’t aware, grip leaving the hollow of her neck to favor the round of a thigh curling around him.

It is a curious disarray of limbs as they both vy for leverage against disintegrating walls and worn out government-issue tile. Both hands slide to the curve of her ass, hold tightening when she manages to break through the barrier of denim, fingers too easily slicking along.

The shell of her hand is warm and more inviting than it has any right to be and his breath catches in the back of his throat. He remembers this - sharing himself with another person - and with stunning acuity but it’s been- how long? Desperately he tries to focus on the answer and around over sensitivity from inactivity but he gasps and groans instead, teeth coming down on what-he-can-get of her breastbone.

This shift in position and their differences in stature afford him a moment of relief from her and he takes advantage of the opportunity, hips kiltering high. His grip affords him a great deal of leverage, palms quick to remedy their mismatched movements.

Small, curious hands drift under the seam of his shirt and he is quick to secure her position half-wrapped-around-him with his groin. His own hands move to bar access to her, “No,” He says, fire back in his voice and an expression ready to kill, “Definitely not.”

Jacob nearly catches himself off guard with that one. He is generally a pretty confident, straightforward kind of guy, but he hasn’t bared himself to anyone since before the Miller Incident and certainly not since he’d become a veritable road map.

“I’ll not be the one on display here,” He hunches to prove his point with canines but the door to his office rattles and suddenly it is a consensual scramble for decency. By the time he turns, all six foot three of him shielding the Deputy from view, Pratt is crowding the doorway.

“The fuck do you want.” It is a hard demand and he is out of breath, arms sliding across his chest despite his physical state of half-undress. Much to his discontent, Staci stares at him, caught off guard by the situation he has found himself in, “Well, it’s not gonna bite ya’ Deputy Peaches- quit starin’ at it,” He makes no move to conceal himself, far too amused by circumstance even though his heart is hammering, “Jesus fucking Christ- Pratt!” Freeing a hand he snaps several times in succession, “You’re making him nervous- get the fuck out of here!”

The Deputy in question sputters, quick to free himself of the entire room and Jacob chuckles, “That boys gonna’ need therapy.” He turns towards the doors and frowns at the empty spot where the Rookie should be.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading - i am so glad you came this far  
> if you wouldn't mind please leave a review and let me know how i am doing!  
> thank you !!


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